11 #2
‘You took my life in your hands, Leah,’ he murmurs, leaning in as we begin the climb, his breath ghosting my ear as if he’s whispering sweet nothings to me, his arm back around my waist. ‘So now… I’m taking yours.’
He turns, his gaze stabbing through mine. ‘Only difference is that you don’t get to walk away from what you made this time.’
My ears begin to ring.
I don’t remember walking to my seat.
I don’t remember easing into it.
Tucked beside the window, I glance around for a member of the cabin crew, even though I haven’t got a clue how I could alert them to a psychopath on board without there being consequences.
My eyes find him as his large frame moves along the aisle.
Dire consequences.
The arsehole helps every single bloody passenger around us with their luggage – leaning, crouching, shifting like some courteous titan, his massive frame folding itself barely enough to squeeze into the claustrophobic hell of the aircraft.
He keeps flashing that disarming smile, nodding greetings, murmuring apologies as he steps over knees and toes with the grace of someone used to invading every inch of space.
A woman across the aisle watches him lift a suitcase into the overhead locker. Another looks twice when he smiles at her. They steal glances at me as if I’ve won some kind of divine lottery.
God help me.
Am I like them? Have I also been pulled into the whirlwind of Elias Crane without a way out? What happens when we land? Does it stop? Does it get worse?
And then it hits me – I’ve set the stage, and he’s altered the layout.
I’ve voluntarily vanished off the grid; moved to Norway with no fixed address. Unless Anna or Marina pick up on something, unless some gut-deep instinct claws at them hard enough… I could easily disappear in his shadow for a bloody long time.
He doesn’t even need to put much effort into having his way. Just one flash of a smile, one quiet word to a passenger, and he talks himself into the seat beside me despite the cabin crew’s complaints.
I suck in a breath as he slides into the seat with wolfish ease, shoulder settling against mine. His knee is close enough to brush my leg, and suddenly the already narrow seat feels built around the shape of him. Temperature climbs along every place we almost touch.
I shouldn’t have written to him about Norway.
My vision goes spotty as Isak’s picture from the news report rises unbidden, and then the darkest thought lands – he might kill me.
The world tilts. Noise floods in – the report, his warnings, Marina’s voice.
I try to breathe but the air disintegrates in my lungs and turns to needles.
Dear Lord—
Elias’ hand appears in front of my face, firmly, but carefully lifting my chin as he angles me towards him.
‘Breathe with me,’ he says with a soft smile.
What?
My brain is blaring every alarm it has, but my body seems to be firing off all the wrong signals. Even through the panic, he’s beautiful enough to make it hurt. Despicable enough to make me hate that I notice it.
I blink through the black fog at the edges of my vision, the world narrowing to that low, commanding voice that can soothe and split me open at the same time.
‘Breathe. Now. One… Two…’
The words curl around me like a rope thrown to someone already below the surface. His breath fans warmly across my cheek.
And I obey. I count.
My chest expands, the burn in my ribs beginning to ease.
‘Good girl,’ he murmurs, thumb resting under my chin. ‘Keep going. Again. In.’ He breathes with me. ‘Two… three… Now let go. Relax, Leah.’
I follow the rhythm. The grip of panic loosens its teeth. Colour bleeds back into the world until my body finally stops believing that it’s choking.
My gaze meets his. Those sapphire eyes are still locked on mine. Drowning me more than anchoring me.
He leans in, his forehead grazing mine, that impossible blue swallowing my field of vision whole.
‘There you are,’ he breathes. For the first time since he found me, his grip doesn’t hurt. ‘Stay with me. That’s all you need to do right now. Just… stay. With me.’
Then, softer still, as his gaze flicks down the aisle and back—
‘And everything… everyone,’ he says, enunciating darkly with a tilt of his head, ‘will be okay.’
My head jerks in agreement. He stays too close, gaze dropping to my mouth, and my body reacts before reason can take the reins.
‘Where’s your water bottle?’ he asks with a velvety tone.
I start scanning wildly – under the seat, in the pouch, at my feet – movements jerky and useless. Then, all at once, his hand clamps over mine. Warm, rough and decisive, his fingers thread through my own, but tighten as soon as they settle – like a snare.
He bends closer, breath brushing the shell of my ear, and the voice that follows is nothing like the one that just taught me how to breathe. ‘Calm the fuck down, Leah. Now.’
‘Okay,’ I gasp. ‘Okay. I’m calm. I’m calm.’
It’s a lie, but I sell it with my next forced breath.
The safety demo begins and ends. The engines rise to a roar, pressure pushing me into the seat until the runway finally falls away beneath us.
Whatever ridiculous part of me was still waiting for someone to stop this madness goes silent.
There’s nothing but several thousand feet of empty air opening beneath me, and Elias’ hand wrapped around mine.
The cabin dims. The faint whir of overhead fans meets the high-pitched squeal of cart wheels rolling somewhere up the aisle.
I keep my eyes on our hands, afraid to look anywhere else.
‘Fizzy water, please,’ he says smoothly to the stewardess as she pauses beside us. Then, with exaggerated warmth, he turns towards me. ‘Would you like something, elskling?’
I recognise that one from the phrase list I’d skimmed online last night. Darling. The endearment slithers into my skin like barbed silk.
‘Water.’ The word tastes sour.
The stewardess hesitates. Her face falls, eyes narrowing as she scans me from hairline to chin. Her gaze moves to our joined hands, then returns to my face.
‘Are you alright, miss?’ she asks cautiously, voice a few notes lower to accommodate the quiet of the cabin. ‘Would you like something for travel sickness?’
I open my mouth, but Elias cuts in. ‘Fear of flying.’ His thumb rubs once over my knuckles. ‘Isn’t it, elskling?’
The attendant’s gaze shifts to me again.
I move my head without thinking. ‘Just… flying.’
‘Do you serve spirits?’ Elias drags back her attention.
The stewardess arches an unimpressed brow. ‘Not from the trolley, sir.’
‘For her nerves?’ he says, and then he gives her the Elias Crane smile.
That. Fucking. Smile.
Polished. Persuasive.
Dirty.
Her suspicion falters at once. Enough for him to know he’s got her.